Chapter 7
Beck
The parking lot at Copper Ridge Elementary is already full when we arrive, which means I'm about to spend the next two hours pretending I'm comfortable making small talk with people I don't know while being covered in glitter I definitely didn't sign up for.
Ivy bounces in her booster seat. "Do you think Gemma's here yet?"
"Probably not."
"What if she forgot?"
"She won't forget."
"But what if---"
"She texted me this morning, Ivy. She'll be here."
Ivy goes quiet for exactly three seconds. "Did you text her back?"
I pull into a spot near the building. "Yes."
"What did you say?"
"That we'd see her at the event."
"That's BORING, Daddy."
"It's accurate."
She unbuckles herself with the confidence of someone who's been working on this skill for weeks and is now an expert. "You should've said something NICE."
"I was nice."
"You should've said she looks pretty."
"I haven't seen her yet today."
"You could've said you're EXCITED to see her."
"Ivy---"
"Or that you think about her ALL THE TIME."
I close my eyes. Count to five. "Where did you get that idea?"
"You stare at the back porch a lot."
"I do not stare at the back porch."
"You do. From the kitchen window. When you think I'm not looking."
Note to self: stop looking out the kitchen window.
I grab the bag of supplies Ivy's teacher requested and climb out of the truck. Ivy hops down, already scanning the parking lot for Gemma's car.
"There!" She points. "That's her car!"
It is. An ancient Honda Civic with a dent in the passenger door and a bumper sticker that says Paramedics: Because Even Firefighters Need Heroes Sometimes.
Of course she has that bumper sticker.
Ivy grabs my hand and drags me toward the entrance. The main hallway is already chaos---parents milling around with cameras, kids running between them, construction paper everywhere, and a faint smell of Elmer's glue mixed with cafeteria pizza.
A woman I don't recognize appears in front of us. Blonde hair in a perfect ponytail, yoga pants that probably cost more than my mortgage payment, smile that's too bright for someone dealing with this level of noise.
"You must be Ivy's father!" She extends her hand. "I'm Courtney Walsh. PTA president."
I shake her hand. "Beck Delano."
"Oh, I know." Her smile gets wider. "You're the new fire captain. Single father. Just moved here from Seattle."
How does she know---
"Small town," she says, reading my expression. "Word travels fast. Especially when handsome firefighters move in."
Ivy tugs on my hand, completely oblivious to the subtext happening above her head. "Daddy, I need to find my station."
"Right. We should---"
"I'll walk with you!" Courtney falls into step beside us like this was always the plan. "I was just telling the other moms we should organize a welcome committee for the new Station 7 staff. Maybe a potluck?"
"That's not necessary."
"Oh, but we love supporting our first responders.
And I'm sure it's been hard, adjusting to a new town with a daughter to raise on your own.
" She gives me a look that's equal parts sympathy and speculation.
"If you ever need anything---babysitting, home-cooked meals, adult conversation---you just let me know. "
Translation: I'm available and interested and everyone in this hallway is watching this interaction.
I spot Gemma across the room, and my shoulders drop half an inch before I've decided to let them. I refuse to examine why.
She's crouched next to a kid who looks about Ivy's age, helping him attach googly eyes to a cardboard pteranodon.
Hair pulled back in a messy bun, jeans and a flannel shirt, laughing at something the kid said.
The bun is already coming loose on one side and she hasn't noticed.
Probably won't until glitter is involved.
I pull my attention back to the hallway.
Ivy spots her at the same time. "GEMMA!"
She takes off running.
Gemma looks up, sees Ivy charging toward her, and her face goes open and unguarded---not the professional composure she wears at the station, something easier and faster than that.
Ivy crashes into her with enough force to knock most adults over, but Gemma just wraps her arms around her and lifts her up.
"Hey, dinosaur girl! Ready to blow everyone's minds with your paleontology knowledge? "
"I'm gonna tell everyone about the K-T extinction!"
"Mass extinction events are excellent conversation starters," Gemma says seriously.
I reach them just as Courtney does. The PTA president's smile drops about fifteen degrees.
"And you are...?" Courtney asks, her smile staying perfectly in place while her eyes do a head-to-toe assessment that would make a drill sergeant proud.
Gemma sets Ivy down and extends her hand. "Gemma Lockhart. I work with Beck at Station 7."
Courtney takes her hand like she's accepting something mildly unpleasant. "Oh." Her voice goes up half an octave. "You're the new paramedic."
"That's me."
"I heard you moved here from Denver." The way she says Denver makes it sound like a communicable disease.
"Yep."
Courtney's smile sharpens. "And you're living...?"
Here we go.
Ivy, bless her complete lack of social awareness, announces to everyone within a fifteen-foot radius: "Gemma lives at my house! In the apartment that came with our house!"
Every parent in the vicinity turns to look.
Gemma's smile doesn't waver, but I see the slight widening of her eyes. "I'm renting Captain Delano's in-law suite. Temporary arrangement while I look for something permanent."
"How convenient," Courtney says, her voice dripping with artificial sweetener.
"Super convenient," Gemma agrees, completely missing the subtext. "Great landlord. Very professional. Fixes things really fast."
She has no idea Courtney just declared war on her. I'm not sure if that's refreshing or concerning.
Ivy grabs Gemma's hand. "Come ON. I need to show you my station. We're doing fossil digs and I get to be in charge of the sand table!"
She drags Gemma toward the far corner of the room, leaving me standing with Courtney and her knowing smile.
"She seems nice," Courtney says.
"She's a good paramedic."
"I'm sure she is." A pause. "It must be nice, having someone so close by. Especially with Ivy."
I don't answer. Can't answer without saying something I'll regret.
Courtney pats my arm. "Well, if you need anything---and I mean anything---you know where to find me."
She walks away, and I head toward Ivy's station before anyone else can corner me.
Gemma has already been absorbed into the chaos. She's helping three kids sort through a bucket of plastic dinosaurs while Ivy narrates the entire Jurassic period at maximum volume.
"---and the LONG-NECK ones are actually called sauropods, and they were HERBIVORES, which means they only ate plants, and---"
"Ivy, breathe," I say.
She takes a breath, then immediately continues. "And THIS one is a stegosaurus, and it had plates on its back for THERMOREGULATION---"
A dad I don't recognize leans over. "That's a really impressive vocabulary for a six-year-old."
"She reads a lot," I say.
"Clearly." He extends his hand. "I'm Todd. My son's in Ivy's class."
I shake his hand while keeping half my attention on Ivy, who's now demonstrating the defensive capabilities of stegosaurus tail spikes using a plastic model and sound effects.
"Your wife's great with the kids," Todd says, nodding toward Gemma.
She's crouched at the sand table, helping a small girl brush away "sediment" with a paintbrush. The girl finds something, squeals, and Gemma celebrates like they've just discovered an actual T-Rex skeleton.
"She's not my wife," I say.
"Oh. Sorry. Girlfriend?"
"Tenant."
His eyebrows climb. "Tenant?"
"She's renting my in-law suite."
"Huh." He watches Gemma help another kid identify a triceratops skull. "That's... different."
Before I can figure out how to respond to that---or if I even should---Ivy spots a crisis at the fossil dig.
"Daddy! Come help! We need more sand!"
I escape to the sand table.
For the next hour, I'm buried in Dinosaur Day chaos. Literally buried at one point, when a kid dumps half a bucket of sand on my boots while excavating for a buried brachiosaurus femur that turns out to be a Lego brick. I'm going to be finding sand in my boots for weeks.
Ivy gives a presentation on the K-T extinction to a captive audience of six-year-olds who understand maybe thirty percent of what she's saying but are completely mesmerized anyway. Gemma sits in the back making appropriately horrified faces during the parts about asteroid impacts.
A mom tries to make conversation with Gemma about pediatricians.
Gemma's smile goes supernova. "Oh, I don't have kids! Just really like dinosaurs! Who doesn't like dinosaurs, right? They're so... extinct!"
The mom's smile freezes. She blinks. Blinks again. Looks around like she's hoping someone will rescue her from this conversation.
Gemma's face goes red. "I mean, not that extinction is good. Extinction is terrible. Very sad. But also educational? And---" She spots a kid struggling with scissors. "Oh! I should help with that!"
She practically sprints across the room.
I watch her crouch next to the kid. The too-bright smile vanishes. Her shoulders relax. She shows him how to cut along the dotted line for his pteranodon wings, patient and calm, like she's got all day.
A woman with a clipboard appears at my elbow. "Captain Delano? I'm organizing the parent volunteer schedule for the spring carnival. Can I sign you up for the dunk tank?"
"I work shifts."
"We're flexible on timing!" Her smile could power a small city. "And I'm sure your girlfriend would love to help---"
"Not my girlfriend."
"Oh!" She doesn't miss a beat. "Well, your friend is very sweet. We'd love to have her volunteer too."
The way she says "friend" makes it sound like a euphemism for something much more scandalous.
She disappears into the crowd before I can respond.